


Theirs

by ChaoticNeurosis



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M, Tags Are Hard, argument, drunk, fight, minor fluff, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25455400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticNeurosis/pseuds/ChaoticNeurosis
Summary: Fights and arguments sometimes end okay. Sometimes they're detrimental. When Rob says something that's over the line, she finds a liquor store and tries to drink away her anger.
Relationships: Rob Benedict/Reader
Kudos: 6





	Theirs

**Author's Note:**

> It's not the best. But I needed to just write out a certain scene that had been in my head for ages to make it leave.  
> Good thing? It's gone!  
> Bad thing? I'm not sure this was written well.

Glares seared from opposite sides of the room. Voices rose in near-hatred as words flew around without any more thought than directly affecting the other. Spurred on by their need for the other to realize the underlying issue, tempers unhinged. Hands gestured wildly in the air, accompanying the burning passion within each one's soul. Neither were on the same page. Both wanted a resolution, but they were drifting further and further away from one. 

“Maybe you should just go back to your ex!” 

The words stung, slapped Y/n in the face, as her eyes widened at the man in front of her. 

“What?” The word was a whisper, a need for acknowledgement for what she thought Rob had just spewed. 

He scrubbed his palms over his bearded face and pointed to the door. “You know what? Maybe you should just leave.” 

“Rob, you can’t be serious. It’s...12 in the morning! Where do you want me to go?” She spread her hands in front of her as the argument came to a screeching climax. She was completely taken aback by the things he'd said. By suggesting she should go back to the dickbag that put her through years of torment. Of psychological manipulation and torture. 

“I don’t know!" Rob screamed, spit savagely flying from his lips as he scowled at her. "I just don’t want to see you!” 

“Rob -”

“Just, get out of here, Y/n!” 

His electric blue eyes held so much outrage and bitterness that had gotten infected and festered beneath the surface for too long. Unspoken words became a double edged, serrated dagger that plummeted deep into her soul. Maybe both of theirs. It hurt. His words thrown around haphazardly, uncaring who they hurt. Who they beat down. At least that's what it felt like. 

Y/n watched as Rob turned around and walked into their - or could she even call it that anymore - bedroom. He slammed the door, and she flinched at the sound of wood banging into place. He locked it, blocking her out. 

Fury flowed into every nerve ending, every pore. Two could play at this game. She turned on her heel, grabbed the house keys, and stormed out the door. She didn’t even bother with the car. No, driving wouldn’t make this better. She needed to move, to somehow release everything that built up in her gut, in her chest, as the argument continued into the night. So, she walked. Walked, and walked, and walked. She didn't know how long she walked when the liquor store rose in front of her. 

The neon-lit sign suggested all the wrong things. Things like: come on in, you want the tequila, you want to drink it all away. Logic declared otherwise. Logic told her to turn back around, go back home, and sleep in a guest room if she had to. Don’t reach for the bottle again. Don't fall to the temptation. However, the neon of the liquor sign won out, and she proceeded into the store to fill a brown bag with a bottle of tequila. 

The streets of Los Angeles were relatively quiet for being Los Angeles. She stumbled down the sidewalks as the bottle of tequila emptied into her, warmth spreading from her belly out to her limbs, making her vision blurry. Her head, fuzzy. Her legs, heavy. 

She tipped the bottle back one more time as she clumsily walked up a path to a house. The bottle, now empty, was thrown into the lawn, and it landed unceremoniously by a bunch of ornamental grass. She pounded on the front door relentlessly, not exactly aware of what she was doing. 

The porch light turned on. The door unlocked and opened. 

“Y/n?” The man behind the voice sounded confused as he rubbed at his sleepy eyes. He had every right to be confused. She showed up at his door at 3 in the morning. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I jus...Rbthrwmot,” she slurred. Incoherent words strung together into a messy conglomeration. 

Rich sighed and wrapped an arm around her back, carefully leading her into the house. Whatever happened, he wouldn't just leave her to walk around the streets like she had obviously been doing. When they got inside, she practically face planted onto the couch in the front room. He knew he’d have to explain this to Jaci in the morning, but right now his friend required attention. 

“Stay right there. I’ll be back,” Rich said with a sigh. He considered calling Rob, but if she was here, drunk off her ass, he assumed they had another fight. 

Richard retrieved a blanket and a few pillows so she would hopefully be comfortable. Before he got back to the front room, she had already passed out. He spread the blanket over her and lifted her head just enough to slide a pillow beneath it. With a final look at his best friend’s stone cold drunk girlfriend, he turned out the lights and went back to bed.

The smell of bacon frying made her nose twitch as she slowly returned to consciousness. Light streamed into the room by the large front windows, and a burst of fireworks ignited behind her eyes. She squeezed them shut again. The headache erupted, and a mass wave of nausea quickly followed suit. She threw the blanket back with haste and ran into the bathroom. She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and gripped the seat. Her stomach wretched into the porcelain. 

A hand soon appeared on her back, and it rubbed a line up and down her spine, soothing her from the vomiting. Bile and gunk forced itself out of Y/n's system. She could barely get a breath before the next wave hit. 

“A little too much last night?” Jaci asked as she held Y/n’s hair back so it wouldn’t fall in the toilet or in the way of more puke. 

“How -” 

But she couldn’t finish the question before upchucking again. It smelled horrible. It was oily and dark and burned as it came up. She didn’t remember what she drank, how she got the Speight’s house, or why she thought this would be the best place to crash for the night. 

“According to Richard,” Jaci said, “you showed up around 3 AM completely hammered.” 

But Y/n didn’t remember that at all. 

“She okay?” Rich called from somewhere else in the house. 

“Just fine.” 

The reply was increased in volume to carry through the halls, but Y/n’s head screamed in protest, and she winced at the way dynamite exploded around her brain. What had she done to herself? 

When the hurling finally called a cease fire, Jaci helped Y/n back to the couch, and she collapsed again. She closed her eyes and curled up, holding her stomach. Maybe if she soothed it with a hug, it would stop attacking. It wasn’t long before she fell back asleep. 

“Are you going to call Rob?” Jaci asked Richard as they stared at Y/n on their couch. 

“I don’t know if I should.” 

“Well, she’s not staying here forever.” 

“I didn’t say she would, but the fact she was blackout drunk is...concerning. If they got into a fight that was _this_ bad, then...I don’t know if I should call him.” 

Jaci sighed as she turned back to the kitchen to continue cooking breakfast for the family. “Figure something out.” 

Richard sighed and internally groaned at the drama between Rob and Y/n. They were usually great, nothing wrong, on completely good terms, but when they fought, it was like Pandora’s box. Shit got everywhere, and it was explosive. 

Eventually, Rich dug his phone from his back pocket and thumbed through his contacts till he came to Rob’s. And he called. 

Rob waited for Rich to open the door. His hands shoved in his front pockets and his shoulders hunched up around his ears. He went almost neurotic with worry. When he realized Y/n's car was still at home, and she wasn't, he went mental. He tried to call her, but when her phone rang from the kitchen, panic set in. He was about to call Richard when his phone went off with Rich's contact photo. 

When Rich opened the door, Rob pushed himself inside, eager to make sure she was okay. 

“Where is she?” he demanded, worry still rolling through his chest. Sure, he had practically demanded that she leave, but he never expected her to just walk through the streets of Los Angeles. 

“Right in there. Can’t miss her,” Rich said as he shut the front door. 

Rob stopped in his tracks when he saw Y/n face-down on the couch. She was passed out cold. “Oh my gosh. I’m so glad she’s okay.” He let out a deep breath and sat in a chair across from the couch, his head in his hands as he tried to put the anxiety back in place. “She just showed up here drunk?”

Rich nodded as he walked into the front room. “Yep. Complete with morning pukes and headache.” Rich waited a few moments before continuing. “What happened, man?”

Rob shook his head as he stared at his girlfriend. “I don’t even know. One second we were fine, watching Netflix, then the next we were at each other’s throats. Like a can of worms was opened and just spilled _everywhere_.” Rob sighed and internally beat himself up, remembering what he told her. “I told her to go back to her ex." 

Rich’s eyes widened at that. “Are you insane? No wonder she wanted to drink, Robbie! My god, you suggested she go back to that piece of trash?”

“It was in the heat of the moment! I was so angry that I just wanted to hurt her. So, I said it. But you know I don’t really feel that way. I would never want Y/n to go back to him. He treated her like garbage!” 

Rich nodded. “Yeah, but what you two do is better?”

Rob glanced up at his friend. “What are you saying?”

“The way you two argue is like a freaking nuclear explosion! It’s toxic! You say things you regret later, you never actually work through it, it all comes back up down the road, and we’re all left with the aftermath. Fix it, Robbie, before she slips away from you. Because I’ve never seen you happier than you are with her. Sure, you fight like this. But when you're not? Damn, it's almost gross. And I don’t just mean to put some fucking duct tape on it. Actually fix it.” 

Rob sat in silence. Rich was right, he couldn’t deny that, but the problem was Y/n. Would she _want_ to fix it? After what he said, doubts played through his mind. 

When she woke up, she wished she hadn’t. The headache was still there. Everything was too loud and it barraged her eardrums. Even the ceiling fan resembled a jet engine. She pulled the blanket up over her eyes and attempted to drift back off, but a high-pitched voice prevented that. 

“Dad! Y/n’s awake!” Frank, Rich’s youngest son, yelled through the house to alert the authorities that Rob’s girlfriend was finally in the land of the living. 

Y/n groaned and sat up. With one eye open and one squinted half-closed, she looked around the room. A very concerned Frank Speight sat in the chair across from her, book in his lap, as he waited for his dad to enter the room. He didn’t say anything, though, which was awkward. At least to her. 

“How do you feel?” Rich asked behind her as he walked in. 

“Like a herd of longhorns trampled me then told a train to do the same thing,” she said. Her voice felt rough and about three octaves lower than normal. 

“Yeah, I imagine so. Oh, and thanks for throwing an empty tequila bottle on my front lawn. My neighbors asked about a million questions as to what that was about.” 

Y/n took a second to think, but it didn’t ring any bells. She apologized anyway. “Sorry.” 

“Hey, Y/n.” 

The new voice was one she didn’t want to hear. She still remembered the fight. Still remembered the way he essentially told her to fuck off. She turned toward him, malice in her eyes, as he came into view. 

“What in the hell are _you_ doing here?” she asked, venom dripping with each word. 

“Rich called. I’m glad he did. I was worried about you.” He sat next to her on the couch and tried to take her hand, but she ripped it away. “Can we talk?” 

Y/n considered it for a moment, but just a moment. _No_ , she thought. _No chance in hell_. 

But since she didn’t say it out loud, Rob took that as encouragement. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n." She gave him a side eye as he began his usual spiel. "And I don’t just mean for last night. I mean for everything.” 

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit. For everything? Did she hear him correctly? “Go on,” she said, her voice still hoarse. Maybe she did want to hear what he had to say.

“I know there’s been a lot of...pent up bitterness between us. Fighting. Never talking anything through. Just going on as if it never happened. It’s not okay, and I will take responsibility for my part of it. It’s no better than...than what your ex did.” 

At the mention of her ex, Y/n stiffened. And what Rob said the night before sprang forward in her mind and replayed. She glared at him, and he took a deep breath, recognizing what she thought. 

“I know. I’m sorry about that, too. That was way out of line. And I’m an ass for saying it. I would never want you to go back to him. I care about you too much to let you even consider it, and I shouldn’t have used it as a weapon. I’m so sorry, Y/n.” 

"Of all the things you've ever said to me," Y/n said, "that was the worst."

Rob nodded and tried to take her hand again. This time she let him, although her body language still suggested how upset she was. "I'm aware of that. It was uncalled for." 

"I know I can be a bitch, Rob, but that? I try, every day, to not think of him! I remind myself that I have you, and you would never treat me like that! But..." Y/n paused and took a breath. She reminded herself that this was not her house. Arguing here would not be polite. "I felt belittled. Betrayed. Like I was right back with _him_." 

Rob raised her knuckles to his lips and briefly kissed them. With eyes closed, he tried to come up with words to explain how incredibly sorry he was for it. That he knew that was no way to treat her, and under no circumstances is it ever okay to bring _him_ up. "I'm so sorry," he eventually said. "It was wrong. It _is_ wrong. I hate that we fight like this. I just wish I knew why. It's unhealthy, for both of us. We're stressed out because of it. And we both know how I deal with stress." 

Y/n took a moment to let his words sink in. She agreed. There was nothing nonfactual about his statement. It was all completely true. 

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered, knowing she needed to make an apology as well. There were two people in that fight. Not just Rob. “I know I can be difficult. I don’t make it easy for you. Especially since _I’m_ the one who hates talking anything through because I hate conflict or...talking about my feelings.” 

“You do realize that’s weird for a woman, right?” Rob smiled, hoping to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yes, I do,” she replied, laughing at his slightly ridiculous statement. “But, I don’t want to leave you, and I'm sorry if you ever thought that. I love you, Robbie, and nothing can change that. Maybe that’s why we fight like this. Maybe we’re scared of losing each other.” 

He reached up and brushed his thumb over her cheek, a sad smile across his lips. “I think you’re right." 

A question illuminated Rob's eyes, and he flicked his gaze to her lips momentarily. Y/n leaned forward and hoped Rob would do the same. They met for a light kiss, a small reassurance that everything would be okay. 

"What do you say we go home?" Rob asked. "You could use a shower.” 

She chuckled. Yeah, she probably did stink like tequila and sweat and vomit. “Yeah. Okay.” 

As they stood, Rich walked back into the room. “Leaving?” he asked. 

Y/n nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry about last night, Rich. I guess even when I’m drunk I know this is a safe place to be.” 

“Well, if you consider a house with The Machete and 3 teenage boys safe, then yes. This is a safe house.” 

“Thanks again, Rich,” Rob said, shaking hands with his friend.

“Take care, guys.” 

As they drove the short distance home, Rob reached across the console of the car and took her hand, their fingers intertwined. “I love you,” he said, almost as a prayer. 

Y/n smiled and looked at her boyfriend. Yes, she could still call him that. They were going to _their_ house. To _their_ shower. Probably to _their_ bed to sleep off the rest of this hangover. She tightened her grip on his hand and grinned. 

“I love you, too.” 

Nothing was perfect, but maybe, one day, they’d be able to sit down and have a conversation about what was bothering them without dropping an atomic bomb for the rest of the world to clean up.


End file.
